


Ebullient

by BakerKeen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Outing, Dancing, First Kiss, Gay Club, Happy Sherlock, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerKeen/pseuds/BakerKeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John agrees to meet Clara at a gay club for her birthday, and sees Sherlock, decidedly NOT on a case. He's <em>different</em> there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ebullient

John hadn't been especially looking forward to the evening. He hadn't been to a gay club since Uni, and it had been quite a long week, but Clara had called him and begged him to go out with her for her birthday. He felt guilty; they had kept up for a year or so after Harry had left her – – in truth, John preferred Clara to his sister – – but he'd gotten busy and stopped making an effort over the last several months. So here he was, getting let in by the bouncer and glancing around to find that he was not, thankfully, the oldest person in the place.

Clara did not seem to be here yet, and John didn't immediately see anyone he recognized. Spying an empty seat at the bar, John sat down and ordered a drink.

He sipped his gin and juice and turned to people watch. The club was just starting to fill, and it seemed a fairly diverse mix. Quite a few young people, but lots of middle aged people, too. Everyone seemed to know each other already and were crowded into groups. 

There was a bunch of young, thin twinks gathered near the dance floor, sipping cosmos and scoping out the men in the other groups. John smirked, thinking that Sherlock would love to be here, deducing everyone. Although, John mused to himself, even he could tell the boys were on the prowl. _Dull_ , John's brain supplied in Sherlock's sharp drawl. 

A group of older, impeccably-dressed men were getting a lot of glances from the boys. John snorted, thinking that they had no shot at all with them; they were subtly eyeing a group of men in their late 20s, who were drinking beers and cutting up. John smiled; what would Sherlock deduce about these men? John did his best. _Fairly new out of Uni; drinking beer because they can't afford liquor. Clothes trendy and flattering but not especially high quality._ John's brain stalled, having exhausted its observational powers. Sherlock would no doubt roll his eyes at his blindness. 

A muscley, dark-haired bloke was smiling at him and making very direct eye contact. Smiling, John lifted his fingers off his glass in a half-wave and looked away; he wasn't cruising tonight. He cast about the room, hoping to see Clara, but there were hardly any women anywhere in the bar. 

There was a group of 30-somethings sipping beers and vodka tonics and talking animatedly near the dance floor. John smiled; they were laughing about something someone just out of his view had said. A tall man standing with his back to John waved at someone a few groups over and left to go visit, leaving Sherlock's unmistakable profile visible. 

John startled; he hadn't know Sherlock had a case on, but here he was, clearly infiltrating a gay club. John took a sip of his drink and watched him, trying to pin down what about Sherlock was off. He held his weight just slightly more on one hip, and his posture was looser, his elbows moving more as he gestured. His smile was wide, generous, and he was laughing easily along with the others. He was animated. It was artfully done; he wasn't exactly "playing gay", but his mannerisms were subtly different in a way that said he belonged here. 

The muscle-bound man slid his hip against the bar next to John. "Can I buy you another drink, hon, or do you have your heart set on Sherlock tonight?"

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. Had he been staring? Then the weight of the man's words hit him, and he whipped his head around. "You know him?"

The man shrugged. "A bit. I see him here probably once a month or so. He's come over to mine a couple of times. Amazing shag, like he's reading your bloody mind."

John tried not to let his shock show on his face. If Sherlock wasn't on a case ....

He glanced over at Sherlock, who had allowed a blond twink to lace fingers and pull him onto the dance floor. Patti Smith was playing and he was smiling shyly at the smaller man as he swayed his hips gracefully to the music. _He looks really happy_ , John realized. _This is what Sherlock looks like when he's not hiding._ The twink had wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling him down for a quick, dirty kiss. 

"Looks like you're too late," Steve said with amusement. John watched as Sherlock broke the kiss, resting their foreheads together as he reached around to grip the other man's arse. 

John looked away, back at Steve, suddenly feeling that he was intruding on something private. He was suddenly anxious to leave. Sherlock had hidden this from him deliberately, and this was clearly a place where he felt safe The thought of Sherlock realizing he was being seen like this, with his guard down, made John feel a bit sick. He stood. "I think I need to get moving, anyway."

Steve smiled, tugging lately on John's shirt sleeve. "Come on, don't be like that. Look, he's about to come this way, I'll introduce you. Oi! Sherlock!" 

Sherlock looked over, smiled at Steve and then froze as his eyes slid over to John. After a moment, he continued over, his posture straightening and face shifting to its familiar cool indifference. John knew his face must look stricken; seeing Sherlock go back to his hard, icy persona was doing something weird to his insides. Sherlock approached them, shoulders stiff, neck straight. "Steve. John." 

Steve raised his eyebrows. " _Oh._ " He looked between them, eyes sweeping over Sherlock's suddenly defensive demeanor and John's guilty, apologetic expression. He looked back to Sherlock. "Ex?"

Sherlock kept his eyes on John. "Flatmate," he corrected. His voice was softer here, John noticed. 

Steve cocked his head. "Oh." Then he suddenly stood straighter. " _Oh._. This is _John_?" 

Sherlock slid his eyes over to Steve warningly. "Obviously." His voice was edged with something, and John realized Sherlock didn't want Steve to reveal what he knew about John. _He's embarrassed_ , John reminded himself. 

Steve snorted and craned around to look at John. "What, you didn't know he was gay?" 

"No," John admitted, at the same moment Sherlock said, "Of course he did."

They looked at each other, eyebrows raised, and Steve laughed. "I think I'll leave you two to it, then."

John rushed to speak, apology plain in his voice. "I didn't come here to spy on you. Clara invited me out for her birthday celebration, and I swear this is where she told me to meet everyone, but they are nowhere to be found." He looked around helplessly, as if to prove the point. He just wanted to escape, to leave so Sherlock would let that happy, bright version of himself back out of its cage.

Sherlock's eyes were unreadable, his voice quiet. "The lesbian bar is on the other side. Separate entrance." 

"Ah," said John, smiling awkwardly. "That explains it." He exhaled, looking up at Sherlock. "Listen, this part of your life is clearly very private, and I feel as though I'm intru--"

"What did you mean, you didn't know I was gay?" Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "I told you the day we met."

John scoffed, indignation ripping through him. "You did not!" He squinted a bit, trying to remember the exact words Sherlock had spoken that day at Angelo's. "You said you were married to you work. I thought you were asexual, or at least celibate."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, leaning into the bar, carefully leaving a couple of feet of space between them, as though he was no longer sure if his proximity was welcome. "I said girlfriends were not really my area, then agreed with you that it was fine to be gay. I suddenly feel I've been overestimating your intelligence." 

John laughed a bit. "Well, you ought to be well used to that sensation. Nothing new there."

Sherlock chuckled a bit in agreement, and looked up as the bartender approached. "Two shots of Jameson and two Makers, neat."

John clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll let you get back to your friends. I'm sorry to have interrupted your evening."

Sherlock reached for the shots and handed one to John. "Don't be absurd, John. I don't have friends. I've just got one." He smiled softly, shifting his weight to one hip and relaxing his shoulders. 

John smiled, holding the shot glass for a moment as he took in Sherlock's clear invitation. "Cheers," he said, clinking glasses before tossing back the shot. The sweet whiskey burned pleasantly down his throat and when he licked his lips, he saw Sherlock watching the movement. 

Handing him the tumbler of bourbon, Sherlock nodded his head over to where he'd been standing before he'd been pulled to the dance floor. "Want to join me?" 

He had every reason to leave, and it wasn't even an excuse. He really, honestly ought to go find Clara. But Sherlock was turning on that warm, genuine smile and John found himself unable to remove himself from a happy Sherlock's orbit. 

"Sure," he agreed, and followed him to where a small group was watching them with undisguised interest. 

"This is --"

"The mysterious _John_ , we _heard_ ," cut in a very attractive man in his thirties. Behind him, Steve shrugged, not even looking apologetic. The man wrapped a hand around John's forearm, pulling him in close. "We've heard so much about you."

Sherlock was looking directly at the man and, John suspected, attempting to shut him up via telepathy. John laughed. "I can't honestly say he's mentioned any of you, sadly. He's a bit rude."

"Do you think?" the man said, surprise in his voice. John turned to look at Sherlock with an eyebrow raised. The man leaned in conspiratorially. "I'd love to hear more about that." 

John leaned in as well, mock-concern on his face. "Listen, mate, if he's nice here, I'm certainly not going to ruin it for all of you." He grinned, his gaze dipping to the man's lips for a half-beat before returning to his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Marc." He leaned closer, invading John's personal space. He gestured between John and Sherlock. "You two aren't an item?" John shook his head. "Are you straight?" Marc said this in a hushed voice, as though he was asking about something unpleasant. 

John laughed. "Mostly, I'm afraid."

Marc pulled back, winking. "Well, that's a door left cracked open if I've ever heard one." He tugged on John and Sherlock, who drained their glasses and followed him. "Let's dance, bitches." 

John grinned and let himself be pulled onto the noisy dance floor. Sherlock leaned down to his ear. "If you're cruising tonight, you've said the magic words. Prepare yourself for a lot of attention." John looked up into Sherlock's grinning face and quirked an eyebrow. Sherlock leaned in again. " _Mostly_ straight. You have no idea what you've just done." He patted the top of John's head like he was a dumb puppy, and John swatted at him, laughing. 

They started dancing, and John let the music run through him as he shimmied and shook. Marc had indeed seemed to have broadcast John's status, because he found himself continually dancing with someone new. Sherlock was nearby, dancing with the twink from earlier, but kept glancing over at John, checking to see if he needed a rescue and grinning at him. So far, it had been great fun. People kept bringing over shots for the group, so John was feeling loose-limbed and happy, and danced with whomever happened to be nearby. A few of the men had gripped his hips or squeezed his arse, and two had even kissed him. John had kissed back, more enthusiastically in one case than the other, and just smiled and laughed.

Happiness was bubbling up inside John that had nothing to do with the large man currently grinding on him. He wasn't hoping to hook up with anyone tonight; the place just had an air of openness and celebration and possibility that felt like home. He looked up to see Sherlock watching him, joy plain on his face. They grinned at each other for a moment, and then someone brought them another round of shots. 

Everyone stopped dancing long enough to knock back their tequila, and John's bear turned to ask someone else a question. John reached for Sherlock's hand and pulled him close, swaying his hips to the music and smiling up at him. 

Sherlock was a graceful dancer, which surprised John a bit; he would've guessed Sherlock had deleted dance to make room for bruising patterns of ligatures on human corpses or some such. But Sherlock was dancing like it was his job, all footwork and peacock-proud twirls. He had just completed a spin and overcorrected a bit -- they'd done a _lot_ of shots, after all -- and John caught him. He waited for the scowling defensiveness to start but instead, Sherlock just laughed. 

A bubble of absolute joy rose up in John's chest, and he pulled Sherlock down for a kiss, laughter replaced by a soft noise of surprise. Sherlock pulled back, eyes wide, and John grinned at him, shrugging a shoulder, content to just bask in his happiness and let that moment pass. 

Then Sherlock grinned back, that brilliant, easy smile he had in this place, and he started dancing again, pulling John close and craning down to drop soft kisses on his mouth from time to time. No one was cutting in, now. It was just John, caught in the too-bright orbit of an ebullient Sherlock. 

"Add It Up" started playing, and John hissed a triumphant "yesssss". Sherlock laughed, and they pushed in for soft, playful kisses on the first verse. 

           _Why can't I get just one kiss?_  
           _Why can't I get just one kiss?_  
           _There may be some things I wouldn't miss_  
           _But I look at your pants and I need a kiss._  


John grabbed Sherlock's trousers then, squeezing his arse playfully, something in the mood changed. Sherlock bit John's lip, and John opened his mouth, letting Sherlock's hot tongue invade his mouth. Tipping his head, John lifted his tongue to meet Sherlock's, and suddenly the kiss turned frenzied. John was still squeezing Sherlock's arse, and Sherlock had a huge hand at the back of John's head, clutching him close. 

           _Why can't I get just one screw?_  
           _Why can't I get just one screw?_  
           _Believe me, I know what to do_  
           _But something won't let me made love to you._  


Sherlock was grinding against him now, and John distantly recognized the sound of Marc catcalling them. He rolled his hips in response, lust wrapping around him, spiking through him, and suddenly the thought of making Sherlock feel good was too much to handle. After a moment, John pulled away and they laughed breathlessly. Holding Sherlock's gaze, John rolled his hips invitingly through the last verse. 

           _Why can't I get just one fuck?_  
           _Why can't I get just one fuck?_  
           _I guess it's got something to do with luck_  
           _But I waited my whole life for just one..._  


Sherlock bent down to kiss him again, sloppy and eager. John broke away as the song ended, smiling and gasping for breath. "Baker Street?"


End file.
